In this multi-part moving story, cancer survivor Jane Granville shares the story of her breast cancer diagnosis, her treatment, recovery and the aftermath (the bit nobody talks about). In this first episode, Jane bravely shares the experience of her diagnosis.
I have had to think long and hard about writing this. Did I ever think I would write about this? Definitely not – because I didn’t think I ever wanted to sit down and relive that time ever again.
Why now? I don’t even know why, writing this I am not sure if I will get to the end of this story, so bear with me.
February 28th 2017 was the day, the day my life changed for ever, and I can feel my throat burning as I am writing, wondering if I am brave enough to keep writing, to relive it. I want to do this because I want to help others.
February 2017, standing in my daughter Ellie’s bedroom. I very rarely went into her room, but this night she had some gossip. “Quick mam, come here!” she called, I was just getting ready for bed myself, so I picked up my pj’s and wandered into her bedroom.
While she was quickly trying to tell me what the gossip was, I had pulled my jumper over my head, and inadvertently brushed my hand against my breast. Whilst doing this I thought I felt something unexpectedly – no, I must have been wrong, there was nothing there yesterday, so this couldn’t have just popped up today.
Ellie, by that point, had stopped chattering, and just looked at me.
“Mum, she said, are you ok?”
I looked at her face, she knew something was wrong.
“Mum!” she said again, “What’s the matter did you feel something?”
Ellie at that point had literally just turned 16.
“Its fine, El, I just thought I could feel something,” – but trying to feel again, I couldn’t find it.
Not long after that my husband Richard came upstairs. At this point I was now in my own bedroom, my heart banging at 90 miles an hour, because I knew what I had found. I had found a LUMP.
It seemed quite small at the time, but it was definitely a lump. I told my husband what had happened and asked him if he would check. He looked into my eyes and said yes he could feel it to but was quick to reassure me it could be anything – I knew different, well I didn’t know for certain, obviously, but from that very first moment, I knew this could be CANCER.
I didn’t sleep much that night, and phoned the doctor first thing the next morning.
Fair play, I was called in instantly, she examined me and she also found the lump, she also tried to reassure me it could have been something else like a cyst and told me not to worry. Worry is my middle name, those that know me well know I suffer with anxiety anyway! I was given some tablets to try and keep me calm. The first thing the doctor did was book me in for a mammogram – I was 49 years old.
It took at least 3-4 weeks before that letter dropped through the door, I had been waiting for it every single day, every time the postman came, I would feel sick, then, no letter – I could breathe again – and then the next day would be the same, all over again.
Until that day came, when my appointment for my mammogram had come.
I will be honest, I couldn’t think straight and in those early weeks my life was consumed with anxiety and panic – and also trying not to show it when my children were only 16 and 18 – it was hard, and telling my elderly parents was even harder.
What do I say, how do I say it, is there a way of making it sound better?
I went through every scenario I could think of, but of course, nothing changed. There was a lump in my breast and no different word would change that. That was probably one of the hardest things I had ever had to say to them, well, or so I thought, because at this point, we didn’t know for definite.
Finally I went for my Mammogram, with my husband by my side as we went to Port Talbot Hospital.
I sat down in the changing room and waited with other women, that were possibly in the same situation as me. I went in, absolutely petrified, knowing I wouldn’t get the answer there and then, but I wanted it now! I couldn’t wait any longer, why couldn’t they just tell me?
Obviously, I knew they couldn’t.
We went home, neither of us talking in the car. My world was suddenly filled with this, I couldn’t think straight, I was already living in my own little world, but I had at least 2 weeks before we would know the result – but deep down, I already knew the result.
My appointment with the specialist was booked 2 weeks from the day that I had my mammogram.
The first few days were horrendous, I knew that there could be a chance if they had found something they could have phoned me straight away.
The first day passed – no phone call, the second day passed, no phone call.
Everyone couldn’t wait to say “no news is good news!” And of course, everyone hopes they are right.
“Could they be right? Could I be wrong?” I wondered.
Then I’d think “of course I’m wrong, I don’t REALLY know for certain. It’s all ok. Or is it?”
The first week had come and gone, we were now on week 2 and all of us were going through a mixture of emotions.
Knowing time was getting closer, and then listening to what others had said, I was starting to believe everything was going to be ok.
And then – that day arrived.
The results were in, and I was off to see the specialist.
Some people say they don’t remember much about traumatic days, but I can tell you every detail of that day, it has nor never will go away.
I do remember Richard’s support – he had been there every step of the way with me, always the voice of reason.
My name was called, and I remember thinking “this is it”. We were just about to find out exactly what this lump was, but before I had any chance to see the consultant, I was approached by the nurse who had told me I had to go down for a biopsy.
My knees buckled underneath me, I was sure I was going to fall but I knew Richard was behind me, he wouldn’t let me fall. I knew he wouldn’t.
As I look back, I am just realising, I never knew how Richard was feeling, I never asked him if he was scared, my biggest downfall was that this was happening to me and I felt nobody else could understand. Back then, I didn’t give him the chance to understand, because it was my lump and I didn’t want to talk about it.
So now I was lying on a bed, with a consultant going through what they were going to do. I obviously knew that by this point something had been found and they needed to investigate further. I had told the consultant it was funny that, after losing around 8 stone and eating healthily that I had now found this lump.
She told me that lump could have been there for up to 10 years, and if I hadn’t have lost weight, maybe I would never have found it. Now that was a scary moment.
The consultant then told me it would take 2-3 more days to get the results from the biopsy.
“OMG!” I thought. “For god’s sake I just want to know!!
The fear itself was nearly killing me.
She showed me back out to the waiting room, where I had to sit for a while before meeting what would become my own breast consultant and my nurse. Both myself and Richard walked into his room and sat down.
I didn’t really know why I was in here, if the results weren’t due back for a few days.
But then we heard his first words:
“We don’t need to wait for those results, Mrs. Granville you have Breast Cancer.”
I thought I was prepared for those words, hadn’t I already convinced myself that’s what it was? Trust me, you are never prepared, never in a million years.
Panic set in.
“That’s it…..I’m going to…..this is it, I cant do this, how do I tell the kids, how do I tell my parents….”
I wasn’t listening to the doctor now, I had other people to worry about.
I do remember Richard though.
Before the doctor had even had time to tell us what the next steps were, Richard was speaking, that’s all I could hear.
“Take it off, she doesn’t need it, its fine with me – if it makes her better, take it off!”
In the mists of all the despair, I couldn’t help but laugh, I could hear myself agreeing, we didn’t really give the doctor time to talk.
He said, “Slow down – I don’t think we need to do that!”
He reassured me, telling me that I had found the lump while it was small, it had measured around 1 cm, obviously we didn’t really understand what he was saying, but by now we started to listen.
He then went on to say, that he felt they could remove the lump, with a procedure called a lumpectomy, this was an operation, to remove the lump from my breast and an area around the lump, a margin I think they called it, like a fried egg the yellow was the cancer, and the white the healthy cells around it, but it had to be a clear margin all the way around.
I never looked at Richard when any of this was going on, it was all about me. I was selfish – I couldn’t think about how he felt. This was MY cancer, and I was the only one that had to go through the next few months not knowing what was to come.
I knew whatever it was, I was alone, and I don’t mean alone without any support, not without anyone to confide in, not without anyone to hold me, but no one can ever fully understand how alone you feel in that moment – not even when you are with the people that love you the most.
There was so much information, to take in.
I felt the consultant and the nurse were trying to encourage me and reassure me that this was not the end – and those were the words I was concentrating on.
I was booked in for surgery in just 10 days from that day – it was so quick, and of course, that was good, isn’t that the best outcome, but it was also 10 days closer to knowing whether this was more than the doctor suspected – because the truth was not even he had all the answers.
I stood there as I was given a bag full of books, all about my cancer. I didn’t want to read about it!
I was bloody scared enough now, the less I knew the better, and that was the way I wanted it. I wasn’t pretending it wasn’t happening, my faith now was totally in the hands of the doctors and nurses, and I just hoped and prayed that they would get me sorted.
There was one thing in my bag that I thought was really sweet, and that was a heart shaped cushion, it was lovely. Julie, my breast nurse, told me it was made by other past breast cancer sufferers.
“What a sweet thing,” I said to Julie. She looked me in the eyes, and she said, “this will become your best friend,” words I didn’t understand till later in my story.
But for now – I had my diagnosis. It was time to go home and tell my 2 teenage children that I had cancer, and by far that was the hardest thing I had ever had to do.
To be continued.
